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LAUS  VENERIS 

1866 


ALGERNON    CHARLES 
SWINBURNE 


LAUS     VENERIS 


PORTLAND    MAINE 

THOMAS    B    MOSHER 

MDCCCCIX 


FIRST    EDITION,  JULY,    I9OO 

SECOND    EDITION,  JUNE,    I909 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE ix 

LAUS    VENERIS 3 

APPENDIX  : 

NOTE  TO  LAUS  VENERIS    .       .  4I 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 44 


2057164 


PREFACE 


The  following  remarks  are 
taken  from  the  Notes  on 
Poems  and  Reviews  —  that 
magnificent  impeachment  of 
his  detractors  which  Swin- 
burne put  forth  shortly  after 
the  publication  and  during  the 
temporary  withdrawal  of  his 
Poems  and  Ballads  (London, 
1866).  It  may  here  be  said 
once  and  for  all  that  no  word 
or  line  of  Laus  Veneris  has 
ever  been  altered  from  the 
first  to  the  latest  edition.  As 
it  was  originally  given  to  the 
world  so,  in  the  words  of 
Richard  Grant  White,  it 
stands  to-day  — "an  expres- 
sion of  beauty  and  passion 
in  this  fearless  old  fashion  ; 
naked,  free  and  strong.  Na- 
ked not  for  the  nakedness, 
but  for  the  sake  of  freedom, 
strength  and  beauty." 


PREFACE 

OF  the  poem  in  which  I  have 
attempted  once  more  to 
embody  the  legend  of  Venus  and 
her  knight,  I  need  say  only  that 
my  first  aim  was  to  rehandle  the 
old  story  in  a  new  fashion.  To 
me  it  seemed  that  the  tragedy 
began  with  the  knight's  return  to 
Venus  —  began  at  the  point  where 
hitherto  it  had  seemed  to  leave  off. 
The  immortal  agony  of  a  man  lost 
after  all  repentance  —  cast  down 
from  fearful  hope  into  fearless 
despair  —  believing  in  Christ  and 
bound  to  Venus  —  desirous  of  pen- 
itential pain,  and  damned  to  joyless 
pleasure  —  this,  in  my  eyes,  was 
the  kernel  and  nucleus  of  a  myth 
comparable  only  to  that  of  the 
foolish  virgins  and  bearing  the 
same  burden.  The  tragic  touch 
of  the  story  is  this  :  that  the  knight 
who  has  renounced  Christ  believes 


in  him;  the  lover  who  has  em- 
braced Venus  disbelieves  in  her. 
Vainly  and  in  despair  would  he 
make  the  best  of  that  which  is  the 
worst  —  vainly  remonstrate  with 
God,  and  argue  on  the  side  he 
would  fain  desert.  Once  accept 
or  admit  the  least  admixture  of 
pagan  worship,  or  of  modern 
thought,  and  the  whole  story  col- 
lapses into  froth  and  smoke.  It 
was  not  till  my  poem  was  com- 
pleted that  I  received  from  the 
hands  of  its  author  the  admirable 
pamphlet  of  Charles  Baudelaire 
on  Wagner's  Tannbaiiser.  If  any 
one  desires  to  see,  expressed  in 
better  words  than  I  can  command, 
the  conception  of  the  mediaeval 
Venus  which  it  was  my  aim  to  put 
into  verse,  let  him  turn  to  the 
magnificent  passage  in  which  M. 
Baudelaire  describes  the  fallen 
goddess,  grown  diabolic  among 
ages  that  would  not  accept  her 
as  divine.  In  another  point,  as  I 
then  found.  I  concur  with  the  great 


musician  and  his  great  panegj'rist. 
I  have  made  Venus  the  one  love 
of  her  knight's  whole  life,  as  IMary 
Stuart  of  Chastelard's;  I  have 
sent  him,  poet  and  soldier,  fresh 
to  her  fierce  embrace.  Thus  only 
both  legend  and  symbol  appear  to 
me  noble  and  significant.  Light 
loves  and  harmless  errors  must 
not  touch  the  elect  of  heaven  or  of 
hell.  The  queen  of  evil,  the  lady 
of  lust,  will  endure  no  rival  but 
God;  and  when  the  vicar  of  God 
rejects  him,  to  her  only  can  he 
return  to  abide  the  day  of  his 
judgment  in  weariness  and  sorrow 
and  fear. 

A.    C.    SWINBURNE. 


LAUS  VENERIS 
1866 


LAUS  VENERIS 


ASLEEP  or  waking  is  it  ?  for  her 
neck, 
Kissed    over    close,   wears   yet   a 
purple  speck 
Wherein  the  pained  blood  fal- 
ters and  goes  out ; 
Soft,  and  stung  softly  —  fairer  for 
a  fleck. 


But  though  my  lips  shut  sucking 

on  the  place, 
There  is  no  vein  at  work  upon  her 

face  ; 
Her   eyelids   are  so  peaceable, 

no  doubt 
Deep  sleep  has  warmed  her  blood 

through  all  its  ways. 


Ill 
Lo,  this  is  she  that  was  the  world's 

delight ; 
The  old  grey  years  were  parcels  of 
her  might ; 
The    strewings     of     the     ways 
wherein  she  trod 
Were   the   twain   seasons   of   the 
day  and  night. 

IV 

Lo,  she  was  thus  when  her  clear 

limbs  enticed 
All  lips  that  now  grow  sad  with 

kissing  Christ, 
Stained  with  blood  fallen  from 

the  feet  of  God, 
The  feet  and  hands   whereat  our 

souls  were  priced. 

V 

Alas,  Lord,  surely  thou  art  great 

and  fair. 
But    lo    her    wonderfully    woven 

hair! 
And  thou  didst  heal  us  with  thy 

piteous  kiss ; 
But  see  now,  Lord ;  her  mouth  is 

lovelier. 


VI 

She  is  right  fair;  what  hath  she 

done  to  thee  ? 
Nay,  fair  Lord  Christ,  lift  up  thine 

eyes  and  see ; 
Had   now   thy   mother  such  a 

lip  —  like  this  ? 
Thou  knowest  how  sweet  a  thing 

it  is  to  rae. 

VII 

Inside  the  Horsel  here  the  air  is 

hot; 
Right  little  peace  one  hath  for  it, 

God  wot ; 
The     scented     dusty     daylight 

burns  the  air, 
And  my  heart   chokes  me  till  I 

hear  it  not, 

VIII 

Behold,  my  Venus,  my  soul's  body, 
lies 

With  my  love  laid  upon  her  gar- 
ment-wise. 
Feeling  my  love  in  all  her  limbs 
and  hair 

And    shed    between    her    eyelids 
through  her  eyes. 


IX 

She  holds  my  heart  in  her  sweet 

open  hands 
Hanging  asleep ;  hard  by  her  head 

there  stands, 
Crowned   with  gilt  thorns  and 

clothed  with  flesh  like  fire, 
Love,  wan  as  foam  blown  up  the 

salt  burnt  sands  — 

X 

Hot  as  the  brackish  waifs  of  yel- 
low spume 

That  shift  and  steam  —  loose  clots 
of  arid  fume 
From   the  sea's  panting  mouth 
of  dry  desire ; 

There  stands  he,  like  one  labour- 
ing at  a  loom. 


The  warp  holds  fast  across ;  and 

every  thread 
That  makes  the  woof  up  has  dry 

specks  of  red ; 
Always  the  shuttle  cleaves  clean 

through,  and  he 
Weaves  with  the  hair  of  many  a 

ruined  head. 


XII 

Love  is  not  glad  nor  sorry,  as  I 

deem; 
Labouring  he  dreams,  and  labours 

in  the  dream, 
Till  when  the  spool  is  finished, 

lo  I  see 
His  web,  reeled  off,  curls  and  goes 

out  like  steam. 

XIII 

Night   falls    like   fire ;    the   heavy 

lights  run  low, 
And  as  they  drop,  my  blood  and 

body  so 
Shake  as  the  flame  shakes,  full 

of  days  and  hours 
That  sleep  not  neither  w'eep  they 

as  they  go. 

XIV 

Ah  yet  would  God   this  flesh  of 

mine  might  be 
Where  air  might  wash  and  long 

leaves  cover  me, 
Where  tides  of  grass  break  into 

foam  of  flowers. 
Or    where    the    wind's  feet   shine 

along  the  sea. 


XV 

Ah  yet  would  God  that  stems  and 

roots  were  bred 
Out   of   my  weary  body   and  my 

head, 
That  sleep  were  sealed  upon  me 

with  a  seal, 
And  I  were  as  the  least  of  all  his 

dead. 

XVI 

Would  God  my  blood  were    dew- 
to  feed  the  grass, 

Mine   ears   made  deaf   and   mine 
eyes  blind  as  glass, 
My  body  broken   as  a   turning 
wheel, 

And    my    mouth    stricken    ere    it 
saith  Alas  ! 

XVII 

Ah    God,    that    love    were    as    a 

flower  or  flame, 
That  life  were  as  the  naming  of  a 

name, 
That  death  were  not  more  pitiful 

than  desire, 
That   these  things   were   not   one 

thing  and  the  same  ! 


XVIII 

Behold    now,    surely    somewhere 

there  is  death : 
For  each  man  hath  some  space  of 

years,  he  saith, 
A  little  space  of  time  ere  time 

expire, 
A     little    day,    a    little    way    of 

breath. 

XIX 

And  lo,  between  the  sundawn  and 

the  sun, 
His   day's   work    and    his   night's 

work  are  undone ; 
And  lo,  between   the   nightfall 

and  the  light. 
He  is  not,  and  none  knoweth  of 

such  an  one. 

XX 

Ah  God,  that  I  were  as  all  souls 

that  be, 
As    any    herb     or     leaf    of    any 

tree, 
As  men  that  toil  through  hours 

of  labouring  night, 
As  bones  of  men  under  the  deep 

sharp  sea. 


XXI 

Outside  it  must  be  winter  among 

men  ; 
For  at  the  gold  bars  of  the  gates 

again 
I    heard   all   night  and  all   the 

hours  of  it, 
The  wind's  wet  wings  and  fingers 

drip  with  rain. 

XXII 

Knights   gather,  riding  sharp  for 
cold;  I  know 

The  ways  and  woods  are  strangled 
with  the  snow ; 
And  with  short  song  the  maid- 
ens spin  and  sit 

Until  Christ's  birthnight,  lily-like, 
arow. 

XXIII 

The  scent  and  shadow  shed  about 

me  make 
The  very  soul  in    all    my   senses 

ache  ; 
The  hot  hard  night  is  fed  upon 

my  breath. 
And  sleep  beholds  me  from  afar 

awake. 


ID 


XXIV 

Alas,  but  surely  where  the   hills 

grow  deep, 
Or  where  the  wild   ways   of   the 

sea  are  steep, 
Or  in  strange  places  somewhere 

there  is  death, 
And  on  death's  face  the  scattered 

hair  of  sleep. 

XXV 

There  lover-like  with  lips  and  limbs 

that  meet 
They  lie,  they  pluck  sweet  fruit  of 

life  and  eat ; 
But  me  the  hot  and  hungry  days 

devour. 
And    in    my    mouth    no    fruit    of 

theirs  is  sweet. 

XXVI 

No  fruit  of  theirs,  but  fruit  of  my 

desire, 
For   her  love's   sake   whose    lips 

through  mine  respire ; 
Her   eyelids    on    her    eyes    like 

flower  on  flower. 
Mine   eyelids   on    mine  eyes  like 

fire  on  fire. 


XXVII 

So  lie  we,  not  as  sleep  that  lies  by 

death, 
With  heavy  kisses  and  with  happy 

breath  ; 
Not   as    man    lies    by    woman, 

when  the  bride 
Laughs  low  for  love's  sake  and 

the  words  he  saith. 

XXVIII 

For   she   lies,  laughing  low  with 
love ;  she  lies 

And  turns  his  kisses  on  her  lips  to 
sighs, 
To   sighing   sound   of    lips   un- 
satisfied, 

And   the   sweet  tears  are  tender 
with  her  eyes. 

XXIX 

Ah,  not  as  they,  but  as  the  souls 

that  were 
Slain  in  the  old  time,  having  found 

her  fair ; 
•   Who,    sleeping    with    her    lips 

upon  their  eyes, 
Heard  sudden  serpents  hiss  across 

her  hair. 


XXX 

Their  blood  runs  round  the  roots 

of  time  like  rain  : 
She  casts  them  forth  and  gathers 

them  again  ; 
With  nerve  and  bone  she  weaves 

and  multiplies 
Exceeding  pleasure  out  of  extreme 

pain. 

XXXI 

Her    little     chambers    drip    with 

flower -like  red, 
Her  girdles,  and  the  chaplets  of 

her  head, 
Her  armlets    and    her  anklets; 

with  her  feet 
She  tramples  all  that  winepress  of 

the  dead. 

XXXII 

Her  gateways  smoke  with  fume  of 

flowers  and  fires, 
With  loves  burnt  out  and  unas- 

suaged  desires  ; 
Between  her  lips  the  steam  of 

them  is  sweet, 
The  languor  in  her  ears  of  many 

lyres. 


XXXIII 

Her  beds  are  full  of  perfume  and 

sad  sound, 
Her  doors  are  made  with  music, 

and  barred  round 
With  sighing  and  with  laughter 

and  with  tears, 
With  tears  whereby  strong  souls 

of  men  are  bound. 

XXXIV 

There  is  the  knight  Adonis  that 

was  slain ; 
With  flesh  and  blood  she  chains 

him  for  a  chain  ; 
The  body  and  the  spirit  in  her 

ears 
Cry,  for  her  lips  divide  him  vein 

by  vein. 

XXXV 

Yea,  all  she  slayeth ;    yea,   every 

man  save  me ; 
Me,    love,    thy    lover    that    must 

cleave  to  thee 
Till  the  ending  of  the  days  and 

ways  of  earth, 
The  shaking  of  the  sources  of  the 

sea. 


14 


XXXVI 

Me,   most   forsaken    of   all  souls 
that  fell ; 

Me,    satiated    with    things    insa- 
tiable ; 
Me,  for  whose  sake  the  extreme 
hell  makes  mirth, 

Yea,  laughter  kindles  at  the  heart 
of  hell. 

XXXVII 

Alas  thy  beauty!  for  thy  mouth's 

sw^eet  sake 
My  soul  is  bitter  to  me,  my  limbs 

quake 
As  water,  as  the  flesh  of  men 

that  weep, 
As  their  heart's  vein  whose  heart 

goes  nigh  to  break. 


Ah  God,  that  sleep  w-ith  flow'er- 

sweet  finger -lips 
Would  crush  the   fruit  of   death 

upon  my  lips ; 
Ah  God,  that  death  would  tread 

the  grapes  of  sleep 
And  wring  their  juice  upon  me  as 

it  drips. 


XXXIX 

There  is  no  change  of  cheer  for 

many  days, 
But  change  of  chimes  high  up  in 

the  air,  that  sways 
Rung  by  the  running  fingers  of 

the  wind ; 
And    singing    sorrows    heard    on 

hidden  ways. 

XL 

Day  smiteth   day  in   twain,  night 

sundereth  night, 
And  on  mine  eyes  the  dark  sits  as 

the  light; 
Yea,  Lord,  thou  knowest  I  know 

not,  having  sinned, 
If  heaven  be  clean  or  unclean  in 

thy  sight. 

XLI 

Yea,   as   if   earth  were  sprinkled 

over  me, 
Such  chafed  harsh  earth  as  chokes 

a  sandy  sea, 
Each  pore  doth  yearn,  and  the 

dried  blood  thereof 
Gasps  by  sick  fits,  my  heart  swims 

heavily, 

i6 


XLII 

There  is  a  feverish  famine  in  my 

veins  : 
Below  her  bosom,  where  a  crushed 

grape  stains 
The  white  and  blue,  there  my 

lips  caught  and  clove 
An  hour  since,  and  what  mark  of 

me  remains  ? 

XLIII 

I  dare  not  always  touch  her,  lest 

the  kiss 
Leave     my     lips     charred.     Yea, 

Lord,  a  little  bliss, 
Brief  bitter  bliss,  one  hath  for  a 

great  sin ; 
Nathless  thou  knowest  how  sweet 

a  thing  it  is. 

XLIV 

Sin,  is  it  sin  whereby  men's  souls 

are  thrust 
Into  the  pit  ?  yet  had  I   a  good 

trust 
To     save    my    soul    before    it 

slipped  therein, 
Trod  under  by  the  fire -shod  feet 

of  lust. 


17 


XLV 

For  if  mine  eyes  fail  and  my  soul 

takes  breath, 
I  look  between  the  iron  sides  of 

death 
Into  sad  hell  where  all  sweet 

love  hath  end, 
All     but     the     pain     that    never 

finisheth. 

XLV  I 

There    are    the    naked    faces    of 

great  kings, 
The   singing   folk    with    all    their 

lute-playings; 
There  when  one  cometh  he  shall 

have  to  friend 
The   grave   that   covets    and   the 

worm  that  clings. 

XLV  1 1 

There  sit  the  knights  that  were  so 

great  of  hand. 
The   ladies    that  were   queens  of 

fair  green  land, 
Grown    grey    and    black    now, 

brought  unto  the  dust, 
Soiled,  without  raiment,  clad  about 

with  sand. 


1 8 


XLVIII 

There  is  one  end  for  all  of  them ; 
they  sit 

Naked   and   sad,  they   drink    the 
dregs  of  it, 
Trodden  as  grapes  in  the  wine- 
press of  lust, 

Trampled    and    trodden    by    the 
fiery  feet. 

XLIX 

I  see  the  marvellous  mouth  where- 
by there  fell 

Cities  and  people  whom  the  gods 
loved  well, 
Yet  for  her  sake  on  them  the 
fire  gat  hold. 

And   for   their    sakes  on  her  the 
fire  of  hell. 

L 
And    softer    than    the     Egyptian 

lote-leaf  is. 
The  queen  whose  face  was  worth 
the  world  to  kiss, 
Wearing   at   breast   a   suckling 
snake  of  gold ; 
And    large    pale    lips    of    strong 
Semiramis. 


LI 

Curled  like  a  tiger's  that  curl  back 

to  feed ; 
Red  only  where  the  last  kiss  made 

them  bleed; 
Her  hair  most  thick  with  many 

a  carven  gem, 
Deep  in  the  mane,  great-chested, 

like  a  steed. 

LII 

Yea,    with    red    sin    the   faces    of 

them  shine  ; 
But  in  all  these  there  was  no  sin 

like  mine ; 
No,  not  in  all  the  strange  great 

sins  of  them 
That    made   the  wine -press  froth 

and  foam  with  wine. 

i.iii 
For  I  was  of  Christ's  choosing,  I 

God's  knight. 
No    blinkard    heathen    stumbling 
for  scant  light ; 
I  can  well  see,  for  all  the  dusty 
days 
Gone  past,  the  clean  great  time  of 
goodly  fight. 


LIV 

I  smell  the  breathing  battle  sharp 

with  blows, 
With  shriek  of  shafts  and  snapping 

short  of  bows  ; 
The  fair  pure  sword  smites  out 

in  subtle  ways, 
Sounds  and  long  lights  are  shed 

between  the  rows 

LV 

Of    beautiful    mailed    men;    the 

edged  light  slips. 
Most  like  a  snake  that  takes  short 

breath  and  dips 
Sharp     from     the     beautifully 

bending  head. 
With   all  its  gracious    body   lithe 

as  lips 

LVI 

That  curl  in  touching  you;  right 

in  this  wise 
My  sword   doth,  seeming  fire  in 

mine  own  eyes, 
Leaving    all    colours    in    them 

brown  and  red 
And  flecked  with  death ;  then  the 

keen  breaths  like  sighs, 


LVII 

The  caught -up  choked  dry  laugh- 
ters following  them, 

When    all    the    fighting    face    is 
grown  a  flame 
For  pleasure,  and  the  pulse  that 
stuns  the  ears, 

And  the  heart's  gladness  of  the 
goodly  game. 

LVIII 

Let   me   think  yet  a  little;    I   do 

know 
These  things  were  sweet,  but  sweet 

such  years  ago, 
Their  savour  is  all  turned  now 

into  tears ; 
Yea,   ten   years   since,  where   the 

blue  ripples  blow, 

LIX 

The    blue    curled    eddies    of    the 

blowing  Rhine, 
I    felt    the    sharp    wind    shaking 

grass  and  vine 
Touch  my  blood  too,  and  sting 

me  with  delight 
Through  all  this  waste  and  weary 

body  of  mine 


LX 

That   never  feels  clear  air;  right 

gladly  then 
I  rode  alone,  a  great  way  off  my 

men, 
And   heard  the  chiming   bridle 

smite  and  smite, 
And    gave    each    rhyme    thereof 

some  rhyme  again, 

LXI 

Till  my  song  shifted  to  that  iron 

one; 
Seeing  there  rode  up  between  me 

and  the  sun 
Some  certain  of  my  foe's  men, 

for  his  three 
White  wolves  across  their  painted 

coats  did  run. 

LXII 

The  first  red-bearded,  with  square 

cheeks  —  alack, 
I  made  my  knave's  blood  turn  his 

beard  to  black ; 
The  slaying  of  him  was  a  joy  to 

see : 
Perchance  too,  when  at  night  he 

came  not  back. 


23 


LXIII 

Some  woman  fell  a-weeping,  whom 

this  thief 
Would  beat  when  he  had  drunken  ; 

yet  small  grief 
Hath    any   for    the    ridding    of 

such  knaves  ; 
Yea,    if   one    wept,    I    doubt    her 

teen  was  brief. 

LXIV 

This  bitter  love  is  sorrow  in    all 

lands. 
Draining  of   eyelids,  wringing  of 

drenched  hands, 
Sighing  of  hearts  and  filling  up 

of  graves ; 
A    sign    across    the    head   of    the 

world  he  stands, 

LXV 

As  one  that  hath  a  plague -mark 

on  his  brows ; 
Dust  and  spilt  blood  do  track  him 

to  his  house 
Down  under  earth  ;  sweet  smells 

of  lip  and  cheek, 
Like  a  sweet  snake's  breath  made 

more  poisonous 

24 


LXVI 
With  chewing  of  some  perfumed 

deadly  grass, 
Are  shed  all  round  his  passage  if 
he  pass, 
And     their     quenched     savour 
leaves  the  vi^hole  soul  weak. 
Sick   with  keen   guessing  whence 
the  perfume  was. 

LXVII 

As  one  who  hidden  in  deep  sedge 

and  reeds 
Smells  the  rare  scent  made  where 

a  panther  feeds, 
And  tracking  ever  slotwise  the 

warm  smell 
Is   snapped    upon    by   the   sweet 

mouth  and  bleeds, 

LXVIII 

His  head  far  down  the  hot  sweet 

throat  of  her  — 
So  one  tracks  love,  whose  breath 

is  deadlier, 
And  lo,  one  springe  and  you  are 

fast  in  hell, 
Fast     as     the    gin's    grip     of     a 

wayfarer. 


LXIX 

I  think  now,  as  the  heavy  hours 
decease 

One  after  one,  and  bitter  thoughts 
increase 
One  upon  one,  of  all  sweet  fin- 
ished things; 

The  breaking  of  the  battle ;   the 
long  peace 

LXX 

Wherein    we   sat    clothed    softly, 

each  man's  hair 
Crowned  with  green  leaves  beneath 

white  hoods  of  vair ; 
The  sounds  of  sharp  spears  at 

great  tourneyings. 
And  noise  of  singing  in  the  late 

sweet  air. 

LXXI 

I    sang    of     love,    too,    knowing 

nought  thereof; 
"  Sweeter,"    I    said,    "  the    little 

laugh  of  love 
Than  tears  out  of  the  eyes  of 

Magdalen, 
Or    any    fallen    feather    of     the 

Dove. 


26 


LXXII 

**The    broken    little    laugh    that 

spoils  a  kiss, 
The  ache  of  purple  pulses,  and  the 

bliss 
Of  blinded  eyelids  that  expand 

again  — 
Love  draws  them  open  with  those 

lips  of  his, 

LXXIII 

"■  Lips    that    cling    hard    till    the 

kissed  face  has  grown 
Of  one  same  fire  and  colour  with 

their  own  ; 
Then    ere   one  sleep,   appeased 

with  sacrifice. 
Where  his  lips  wounded,  there  his 

lips  atone." 

LXXIV 

I  sang  these  things  long  since  and 

knew  them  not ; 
"  Lo,  here  is  love,  or  there  is  love, 

God  wot, 
This  man  and  that  finds  favour 

in  his  eyes," 
I  said,  "  but  I,  what  guerdon  have 

I  got  ? 


27 


LXXV 

"  The  dust  of  praise  that  is  blown 
everywhere 

In  all  men's  faces  with  the  com- 
mon air  ; 
The  bay-leaf  that  wants  chafing 
to  be  sweet 

Before  they  wind  it  in  a  singer's 
hair." 

Lxxvr 
So  that  one   dawn   I   rode   forth 

sorrowing; 
I  had  no  hope  but  of  some  evil 
thing, 
And   so    rode   slowly   past    the 
windy  wheat, 
And   past    the    vineyard  and    the 
water -spring, 

LXXVII 

Up  to  the  Horsel.     A  great  elder- 
tree 

Held  back  its  heaps  of  flowers  to 
let  me  see 
The  ripe  tall  grass,  and  one  that 
walked  therein, 

Naked,  with  hair  shed  over  to  the 
knee. 


28 


I 


LXXVIII 

She  walked  between  the  blossom 

and  the  grass ; 
I  knew  the  beauty  of  her,  what 

she  was, 
The  beauty  of  her  body  and  her 

sin, 
And  in  my  flesh  the  sin  of  hers, 

alas ! 

LXXIX 

Alas !  for  sorrow  is  all  the  end  of 
this. 

0  sad  kissed  mouth,  how  sorrow- 

ful it  is  I 
O  breast  whereat  some  suckling 
sorrow  clings. 
Red  with  the  bitter  blossom  of  a 
kiss ! 

LXXX 

Ah,  with  blind  lips  I  felt  for  you, 

and  found 
About  my  neck  your  hands  and 

hair  enwound, 
The  hands  that  stifle  and  the 

hair  that  stings, 

1  felt  them  fasten  sharply  without 

sound. 


29 


Yea,  for  my  sin  I  had  great  store 

of  bliss : 
Rise  up,  make  answer  for  me,  let 

thy  kiss 
Seal  my  lips  hard  from  speaking 

of  my  sin, 
Lest   one   go    mad    to    hear    how 

sweet  it  is. 

LXXXII 

Yet  I  waxed  faint  with   fume  of 
barren  bowers, 

And    murmuring    of    the    heavy- 
headed  hours ; 
And   let   the   dove's  beak  fret 
and  peck  within 

My  lips  in  vain,  and   Love   shed 
fruitless  flowers. 

LXXXIII 

So    that    God    looked    upon    me 

when  your  hands 
Were    hot    about    me ;    yea,    God 

brake  my  bands 
To  save   my  soul   alive,  and   I 

came  forth 
Like   a   man   blind   and   naked  in 

strange  lands 

30 


LXXXIV 

That  hears  men  laugh  and  weep, 

and  knows  not  whence 
Nor  wherefore,  but  is  broken  in 

his  sense ; 
Howbeit  I  met  folk  riding  from 

the  north 
Towards  Rome,  to  purge  them  of 

their  souls'  offence, 

LXXXV 

And  rode  with  them,  and  spake  to 

none ;  the  day 
Stunned  me  like  lights  upon  some 

wizard  way. 
And  ate  like  fire  mine  eyes  and 

mine  eyesight ; 
So  rode  I,  hearing  all  these  chant 

and  pray, 

LXXXVI 

And  marvelled;  till  before  us  rose 

and  fell 
"White    cursed    hills,    like    outer 

skirts  of  hell 
Seen    where    men's    eyes    look 

through  the  day  to  night, 
Like  a  jagged  shell's  lips,  harsh, 

untunable. 


LXXXVII 

Blown     in     between     by     devils' 

wrangling  breath ; 
Nathless   we   won  well  past  that 

hell  and  death, 
Down  to  the  sweet  land  where 

all  airs  are  good, 
Even    unto    Rome    where    God's 

grace  tarrieth. 

LXXXVIII 

Then  came  each   man   and  wor- 
shipped at  his  knees 

Who  in  the  Lord  God's  likeness 
bears  the  keys 
To  bind  or  loose,  and  called  on 
Christ's  shed  blood, 

And   so    the   sweet -souled   father 
gave  him  ease. 

LXXXIX 

But  when  I  came  I  fell  down  at 

his  feet, 
Saying,  "  Father,  though  the  Lord's 

blood  be  right  sweet, 
The  spot  it  takes  not  off  the 

panther's  skin, 
Nor   shall    an    Ethiop's   stain    be 

bleached  with  it. 

32 


xc 
•'  Lo,  I  have  sinned  and  have  spat 

out  at  God, 
Wherefore  his  hand  is  heavier  and 
his  rod 
More    sharp    because    of   mine 
exceeding  sin, 
And  all  his  raiment   redder  than 
bright  blood 

xci 
'*  Before  mine   eyes ;  yea,  for  my 

sake  I  wot 
The  heat  of  hell  is  waxen  seven 
times  hot 
Through  my  great  sin."     Then 
spake  he  some  sweet  word, 
Giving    me    cheer ;    which    thing 
availed  me  not ; 

XCII 

Yea,  scarce  I  wist  if  such  indeed 

were  said  ; 
For  when  I  ceased  —  lo,  as  one 

newly  dead 
Who  hears  a  great  cry  out  of 

hell,  I  heard 
The  crying  of  his  voice  across  my 

head. 


33 


XCIII 
"  Until  this  dry  shred  staff,  that 

hath  no  whit 
Of    leaf    nor  bark,  bear   blossom 
and  smell  sweet, 
Seek    thou    not    any    mercy   in 
God's  sight, 
For  so  long  shalt  thou  be  cast  out 
from  it." 

xciv 
Yea,  what  if  dried -up  stems  wax 

red  and  green, 
Shall   that  thing  be  which  is  not 
nor  has  been  ? 
Yea,  what  if  sapless  bark  wax 
green  and  white. 
Shall  any  good  fruit  grow  upon 


xcv 
Nay,    though     sweet    fruit     were 

plucked  of  a  dry  tree, 
And     though     men     drew     sweet 
waters  of  the  sea, 
There  should  not    grow    sweet 
leaves  on  this  dead  stem, 
This  waste  wan  body  and  shaken 
soul  of  me. 


Yea,  though  God  search  it  warily 
enough, 

There  is  not  one  sound  thing  in 
all  thereof ; 
Though  he  search  all  my  veins 
through,  starching  them 

He  shall  find  nothing  whole  there- 
in but  love. 


For    I    came    home    right    heavy, 

with  small  cheer, 
And  lo  my  love,  mine  own  soul's 

heart,  more  dear 
Than    mine     own    soul,     more 

beautiful  than  God, 
Who  hath  my  being  between  the 

hands  of  her  — 

XCVIII 

Fair  still,  but  fair  for  no  man  sav- 
ing me, 

As   when   she   came   out    of    the 
naked  sea 
Making  the  foam  as  fire  whereon 
she  trod, 

And  as  the  inner  flower  of   fire 
was  she. 


35 


XCIX 

Yea,  she  laid  hold  upon  me,  and 

her  mouth 
Clove  unto  mine  as  soul  to  body 

doth, 
And,    laughing,    made    her   lips 

luxurious ; 
Her    hair   had   smells   of    all    the 

sunburnt  south, 

c 
Strange  spice  and  flower,  strange 

savour  of  crushed  fruit, 
And  perfume  the  swart  kings  tread 
underfoot 
For  pleasure  when  their  minds 
wax  amorous, 
Charred  frankincense  and  grated 
sandal-root. 

CI 

And  I  forgot  fear  and   all  weary 

things. 
All    ended   prayers    and    perished 

thanksgivings. 
Feeling    her   face   with    all   her 

eager  hair 
Cleave  to  me,  clinging  as   a  fire 

that  clings 

36 


CII 

To  the  body  and  to  the  raiment, 
burning  them ; 

As  after  death  I  know  that  such- 
like flame 
Shall  cleave  to  me  for  ever ;  yea, 
what  care. 

Albeit  I  burn  then,  having  felt  the 


cm 
Ah  love,  there  is  no  better  life 

than  this ; 
To  have  known  love,  how  bitter  a 
thing  it  is, 
And  afterward  be    cast  out  of 
God's  sight; 
Yea,  these    that  know  not,  shall 
they  have  such  bliss 

CIV 
High  up  in  barren  heaven  before 

his  face 
As  we  twain  in  the  heavy-hearted 
place. 
Remembering  love  and  all  the 
dead  delight, 
And  all  that  time  was  sweet  with 
for  a  space  ? 


37 


cv 

For  till  the  thunder  in  the  trumpet 

be, 
Soul  may   divide  from  body,  but 

not  we 
One  from  another;  I  hold  thee 

with  my  hand, 
I  let  mine  eyes  have  all  their  will 

of  thee, 

cvi 
I  seal  myself  upon  thee  with   my 

might, 
Abiding  alway   out    of    all    men's 
sight 
Until  God  loosen  over  sea  and 
land 
The  thunder  of  the  trumpets  of 
the  night. 

EXPLICIT    LAUS    VENERIS. 


APPENDIX 


"The  '  Laus  Veneris,'  it- 
self sufficiently  independent 
of  models,  is  prefaced  by  a 
paragraph  in  old  French  pur- 
porting to  be  extracted  from 
a  'Livre  des  Grandes  Mer- 
veilles  d'Amour,  escript  en 
Latin  et  en  Franfoys  par 
Maistre  Antoine  Gaget,  1530,' 
but  which  we  confidently 
father  upon  Mr,  Swinburne 
himself." 

\V.    M.    ROSSETTI. 


NOTE  TO  LAUS  VENERIS 

LORS  dit  en  plourant ;  H^las  trop 
malheureux  homme  et  mauldict 
pescheur,  oncques  re  verrai-je 
clemence  et  raisdricorde  de  Dieu.  Ores 
m'en  irai-je  d'icy  et  me  cacherai  dedans 
le  mont  Horsel,  en  requerant  de  faveur  et 
d'amoureuse  merci  ma  doulce  dame  Venus, 
car  pour  son  amour  serai-je  bien  k  tout 
jamais  damne  en  enfer.  Voicy  la  fin  de 
tous  mes  faicts  d'armes  et  de  toutes  mes 
belles  chansons.  Helas,  trop  belle  estoyt 
la  face  de  ma  dame  et  ses  yeulx,  et  en 
mauvais  jour  je  vis  ces  chouses-la.  Lors 
s'en  alia  tout  en  gemissant  et  se  retourna 
chez  elle,  et  la  vescut  tristement  en  grand 
amour  pres  de  sa  dame.  Puis  apres 
advint  que  le  pape  vit  un  jour  esclater  sur 
son  baston  force  belles  fleurs  rouges  et 
blanches  et  maints  boutons  de  feuilles,  et 
aiusi  vit-il  reverdir  toute  I'escorce.  Ce 
dent  il  eut  grande  crainte  et  moult  s'en 
esmut,  et  grande  piti^  lui  prit  de  ce  chev- 
alier qui  s'en  estoyt  departi  sans  espoir 
comme  un  homme  miserable  et  damne. 
Doncques  envoya  force  messaigers  devers 
luy  pour  le  ramener,  disant  qu'il  aurait  de 


41 


APPENDIX 

Dieu  grace  et  bonne  absolution  de  son 
grand  pesch^  d'amour.  Mais  oncques 
plus  ne  le  virent  ;  car  toujours  demeura 
ce  pauvre  chevalier  aupres  de  V^nus  la 
haulte  et  forte  d^esse  es  flancs  de  la 
montagne  amoureuse. 

Livre  des  grandes  merveilUs 
d'amour,  escript  en  latin  et 
en  Franfoys  par  Maistre  An- 
toine  Gaget.     1530. 

TRANSLATION 

Then  lamented  he  weeping  :  Alas,  most 
unhappy  and  accursed  sinner  that  I  am,  in 
that  I  shall  never  see  the  clemency  and 
mercy  of  my  God,  Now  will  I  go  forth 
and  hide  myself  within  Mount  Horsel, 
imploring  my  sweet  lady  Venus  for  favour 
and  loving  mercy,  for  willingly  would  I 
be  forever  condemned  to  hell  for  her  love. 
Here  endeth  all  my  deeds  of  arms  and  my 
sweet  singing,  Alas  that  my  lady's  face 
and  her  eyes  were  too  beautiful,  and  that 
in  an  unfortunate  moment  I  saw  them. 
Then  went  he  forth  sighing  and  returned 
to  her,  and  dwelt  sadly  in  the  presence  of 
his  lady,  filled  with  a  surpassing  love. 
And  afterwards  it  came  to  pass  that  one 
day  the  pope  saw  many  red  and  white 
flowers  and  leaf-buds  spring  forth  from 
his  staff,  and  all  its  bark  bloomed  anew. 
So  that  he  feared  greatly,  and  being  much 


42 


APPENDIX 

moved  thereby  was  filled  with  great  pity 
for  the  chevalier  who  had  gone  forth 
hopeless  like  unto  a  man  forever  damned 
and  miserable.  And  straightway  sent  he 
numberless  messengers  to  him  to  bring 
him  back,  saying  that  he  should  receive 
grace  and  absolution  from  God,  for  this 
his  so  great  sin  of  love.  But  nevermore 
was  he  seen  ;  for  the  poor  chevalier  dwelt 
forever  near  unto  Venus,  that  most  high 
and  mighty  Goddess,  in  the  bosom  of  the 
amorous  mountain. 


II 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 

I .     Laus  Veneris. /By/  Algernon  Charles 
Swinburne. / London  : /Edward    Moxon 
&  Co.,  Dover  Street./i866. 
Collation:  —  Octavo,   pp.   28;   consisting 
of  Half-title  (with  blank  reverse)  pp. 
1-2  ;  Title-page,   as  above  (with   im- 
print—  "London:/ Bradbury,  Evans, 
and  Co.,  Printers,  Whitefriars  "  —  in 
the  centre   of  the   reverse),  pp.  3-4 ; 
passage     from     Livre     des     grandes 
merveilles  d 'amour,  escript  en   latin 
et  en  fran<poys   par   Maistre   Antoine 
Gaget.    1530,    p.    5  ;    p,   6  is   blank ; 
and  Text  pp.  7-28.    The  head-line  is 
Latis    Veneris    throughout,    on    both 
sides  of  the  page. 
Issued  in  plain  paper  wrappers,  of  various 
colours. 

Laus  Veneris  was  also  included  in 
Poems  and  Ballads,  Moxon,  1866,  pp. 
11-30,  and  has  been  retained  in  each 
succeeding  edition.  The  pamphlet,  Mr. 
Swinburne  has  stated,  was  issued  some 
months  previous  to  the  publication  of  that 
volume.  Very  few  copies  were  printed, 
most  of  which  were  distributed  amongst 
private  friends.  "  In  fact,"  said  Mr. 
Swinburne,  "it  was  more  an  experiment 


44 


APPENDIX 

to  ascertain  the  public  taste  —  and  for- 
bearance !  —  than  anything  else.  Moxon, 
I  well  remember,  was  terribly  nervous  in 
those  days,  and  it  was  only  the  wishes  of 
mutual  good  friends,  coupled  with  his  own 
liking  for  the  ballads,  that  finally  induced 
him  to  publish  the  book  [Poems  and 
Ballads]  at  all." 

The  original  Manuscript  of  Latcs  Veneris 
has  fortunately  been  preserved,  and  is 
now  in  Mr.  Wise's  Swinburne  collection. 
It  is  written  upon  sixteen  sheets  of  blue 
foolscap,  mostly  upon  one  side  of  the 
paper  only.  The  Manuscript  (which  is 
bound  in  red  levant  Morocco,  by  Riviere) 
is  freely  corrected,  and  contains  moreover 
a  number  of  cancelled  stanzas,  of  which 
here  is  one  :  — 

The    scent    and    shadow    dead    above    me 

make 
The  very  soul  in  all  my  senses  ache ; 
My   lips   burn,   yea   mine   eyes  burn   up 

with  heat, 
My  face  is  turned  to  dust  for  my  pain's 

sake. 

Of  the  first  edition  of  Laus  (Veneris  no 
copy  is  to  be  found  in  the  British  Museum. 
The  only  example  of  this  exceptionally 
interesting  little  volume  which  has  come 
into  the  market  in  recent  years  figured  in 
one  of  Messrs.  Robson  &  Co.'s  cata- 
logues, priced  ^30. 


45 


APPENDIX 

{French  Translation) 

II.  Laus  Veneris  /  Po^me  de  /  Swin- 
burne/traduit  par/ Francis  Viel^-Grif- 
fin/  Paris  /  Edition  du  Mercure  de 
France/,15,  rue  de  L'  Echand^-St. -Ger- 
main /  m  dcccxc\' . 
Collation  :  —  24mo.  pp.  105. 
Issued  in  paper  wrappers,  printed  in  three 
colours.  The  edition  was  limited  to  283 
copies.  The  Translation  is  in  French 
Prose. 


UC  SOUTHER 


B    OOt 


University 
Southern 

Library 


■s 


